Lewis/Clark HAPPY fic this time!
Okay, so this one deserves some explanation. It sprung from my inaccurate memory of something Clark wrote - I thought he said he liked the taste of the water of the Missouri River more than the Mississippi, when they were staying in St. Louis before the expedition, and that reminded me of a bio paper my friend (hi, Becca) wrote about taste, and how some people are "supertasters" and some are "non-tasters". And preferring the taste of a certain kind of water (not necessarily just being able to taste the difference between different kinds, but actually preferring one to another? I think?) is a supertastery thing to do. So I thought it would be really amusing if Clark was a supertaster and Lewis was a non-taster.
In actuality, of course (head, meet desk), the line is "I send to the Missouries water for drinking water, it being much Cooler than the Mississippi." I relocated the line after having written half the fic and was like, um, not getting rid of this. So the premise is now officially Made Up.
But still. It's kind of absurd, to counterbalance that last angsty one. :) It's also Clark POV.
Historical-Inaccuracies Disclaimer: There were a lot of details I wasn't sure of, like exactly what their sleeping arrangements actually were, so This Is Not History. The author is not responsible for any embarrassment or gory fatal injury that may occur if you take it as such.
....oh yeah, and they probably weren't gay, either. :D
“My dear Captain Clark, what are you talking about?”
William Clark looked up from his journaling and nearly bumped noses with Meriwether Lewis, who was kneeling and squinting over his shoulder to read an old journal entry from before their departure from St. Louis.
It was a cool, lazy evening on the river. The low hum of the mosquitoes, faithful companions of the expedition, hung in the air, and the Mississippi lapped slowly at its banks. The men were busy roasting meat and standing in the way of the smoke in order to escape the mosquitoes. Clark sat cross-legged on the shore with his journal in his lap. “I’m not talking,” he said. “I’m writing.”
“Well, whatever you may be doing, why is it that you would have sent specifically to one river for water over another? It seems like a waste of labor.”
“The Missouri is cooler. I wrote that; you may have read it,” said Clark, distracted by his efforts to spell “mosquito”. “Its water also tastes better than Mississippi water.”
“Water is water, my good man, it has no taste,” said Lewis, looking bemused.
Clark decided on “musquetors”. “It certainly does,” he protested. “Have you not noted it?”
“Of course not. Why should there be any difference in flavor between the water of two rivers?”
Clark frowned in confusion. The taste of each river was so distinctive. How could Lewis not have realized it by now? “I assume,” he replied, finishing his journal entry with an authoritative “&c”, “that there are differing types of mud floating around in each river - you know this, you intend to send Jefferson mud samples, which I expect he’ll appreciate greatly.”
Lewis’s delicate mouth twitched upward. “Indeed, we scientists are great admirers of mud.” Clark, meanwhile, was considering how he himself was a great admirer of Lewis’s delicate mouth. “In any case, though,” Lewis continued, “you cannot convince me that you are able to taste different muds.”
“I can,” said Clark defiantly, shifting so that he faced his co-captain. He supported himself on his hands, as Lewis was doing, and their fingers intermingled in the dirt of the riverbank.
“Well, I cannot,” said Lewis, drawing closer.
“Well, I can,” said Clark with a challenging grin.
And then one of the incessant problems that required Captain Lewis’s attention came up, one of the sergeants called for him, and he snapped to attention. “We will finish this discussion,” he said with a mock heatedness that had, perhaps, some real heat of a different sort behind it, “later in the evening.”
~
Later, in the captains’ tent, Lewis was organizing the many pages of observations of specimens that he had accumulated when Clark burst in carrying a metal cup brimming with water. “This,” he said, putting the cup down irreverently on top of Lewis’s notes, “is the water of the Missouri. Drink, and tell me you cannot distinguish a flavor.”
Lewis had given an involuntary yelp when Clark had let go of the cup, and now he gripped it with both hands to be absolutely sure it didn’t go over. “You’re mad, Clark,” he said, his stern tone belied by the half-smile on his lips. “I shall have to write to Jefferson, tell him ‘Captain C. has unfortunately lost his faculties’.”
“Drink it,” Clark persisted.
Lewis took a slow sip. “No, I say I can taste nothing.” He put the cup down at an extremely cautious distance from his papers, turned back to Clark and slung an arm around his shoulders, bringing their faces close. “But I do not need to. I do believe you, you know. I have been considering it for the duration of the evening, and have concluded that, as with sight and hearing, certain men may perhaps make greater use of their sense of taste than others.”
“An interesting prospect for scientists like yourself,” said Clark, and found himself running a thumb along Lewis’s jaw, feeling the smooth skin and the tingle of day-old stubble. It was remarkable, really, a man like himself who loved women, sometimes too much for his own good, taking such interest in the feel of his co-captain’s jaw, but he wasn’t thinking much about it, or about anything, really.
“Indeed, I think it ought to be studied,” said Lewis, voice quiet and throaty, and then he trailed off and kissed Clark, who, in whatever muddled thoughts he held onto, marveled at the existence of lips like Lewis’s in nature. But Nature had created many wonders, as they were beginning to see in the landscape and in the power of the river, and she had given Clark his perception of the flavor of her waters and, quite possibly, the ecstasy he felt at that very moment.
Lewis drew back and smiled fully, a rare gift. “Your response?”
“Appreciation,” said Clark somewhat breathlessly.
“No, no, I mean... could you taste anything?” His expression had all the eagerness of a scientist conducting an experiment, mixed with another, more devious curiosity.
Clark burst out laughing. He could, actually. “I can tell you’ve been eating berries again,” he said, taking on a disapproving tone. “In all sincerity, you should not risk yourself so, eating things when you’re not sure they are edible. I’ve told you not to.”
“But I do so enjoy it,” said Lewis, tugging a lock of Clark’s hair, “trying out things I have never seen before. The thrill is in the risk.”
Clark swatted his hand away. “What if you were to die of it? What then?”
“I will not die of berries,” Lewis scoffed. “And if by any chance I should,” he continued, playfully, clearly not thinking of death, “you would take over the command; that’s why we have you here.”
Clark wrapped his arms around Lewis’s waist. “My dear - dearest Lewis,” he murmured, pressing his forehead to Lewis’s, “I would not be able.”
They were still for a moment, and then Lewis lifted his head and said as if to brush away the unexpected sentiment, “I’ve another question for you. For my edification - can you discern a difference between my... particular flavor, I suppose...” He grew slightly red in the face; his propriety was not up to this discussion even in his lusty mood. He quickly got over it, though, and continued, “And those of the girls you’ve surely kissed?”
Again, the answer was yes. But Clark just grinned and said, “I’m not sure it’s fitting, describing my previous exploits.” And he caught Lewis by the collar and kissed him recklessly, wanting to do more than just taste, and when Lewis pulled him down onto the ground and managed, “That is to say, you’ve not had any,” in the gasps between kisses, he was entirely willing to take the shot.
______________________________________________________________________________
EDIT: Found some evidence! Okay, so the expeditions bought all these dogs, to eat, from the Indians on October 14, 1805. And Clark wrote:
All the Party have greatly the advantage of me in as much as they all relish the flesh of the dogs.
So everyone else loved the dog meat (eeeuuwww. they were also fond of beaver tail), and Clark refused to eat it. Supertaster-esque, no? Plus, he's always describing the way things tasted, whereas Lewis doesn't really mention that very often.
PS - merry_lewis and capt_clark. OMGWTF. I don't know who these people are, and they're not even attached to an RPG or anything. hahahaha. ♥
In actuality, of course (head, meet desk), the line is "I send to the Missouries water for drinking water, it being much Cooler than the Mississippi." I relocated the line after having written half the fic and was like, um, not getting rid of this. So the premise is now officially Made Up.
But still. It's kind of absurd, to counterbalance that last angsty one. :) It's also Clark POV.
Historical-Inaccuracies Disclaimer: There were a lot of details I wasn't sure of, like exactly what their sleeping arrangements actually were, so This Is Not History. The author is not responsible for any embarrassment or gory fatal injury that may occur if you take it as such.
....oh yeah, and they probably weren't gay, either. :D
“My dear Captain Clark, what are you talking about?”
William Clark looked up from his journaling and nearly bumped noses with Meriwether Lewis, who was kneeling and squinting over his shoulder to read an old journal entry from before their departure from St. Louis.
It was a cool, lazy evening on the river. The low hum of the mosquitoes, faithful companions of the expedition, hung in the air, and the Mississippi lapped slowly at its banks. The men were busy roasting meat and standing in the way of the smoke in order to escape the mosquitoes. Clark sat cross-legged on the shore with his journal in his lap. “I’m not talking,” he said. “I’m writing.”
“Well, whatever you may be doing, why is it that you would have sent specifically to one river for water over another? It seems like a waste of labor.”
“The Missouri is cooler. I wrote that; you may have read it,” said Clark, distracted by his efforts to spell “mosquito”. “Its water also tastes better than Mississippi water.”
“Water is water, my good man, it has no taste,” said Lewis, looking bemused.
Clark decided on “musquetors”. “It certainly does,” he protested. “Have you not noted it?”
“Of course not. Why should there be any difference in flavor between the water of two rivers?”
Clark frowned in confusion. The taste of each river was so distinctive. How could Lewis not have realized it by now? “I assume,” he replied, finishing his journal entry with an authoritative “&c”, “that there are differing types of mud floating around in each river - you know this, you intend to send Jefferson mud samples, which I expect he’ll appreciate greatly.”
Lewis’s delicate mouth twitched upward. “Indeed, we scientists are great admirers of mud.” Clark, meanwhile, was considering how he himself was a great admirer of Lewis’s delicate mouth. “In any case, though,” Lewis continued, “you cannot convince me that you are able to taste different muds.”
“I can,” said Clark defiantly, shifting so that he faced his co-captain. He supported himself on his hands, as Lewis was doing, and their fingers intermingled in the dirt of the riverbank.
“Well, I cannot,” said Lewis, drawing closer.
“Well, I can,” said Clark with a challenging grin.
And then one of the incessant problems that required Captain Lewis’s attention came up, one of the sergeants called for him, and he snapped to attention. “We will finish this discussion,” he said with a mock heatedness that had, perhaps, some real heat of a different sort behind it, “later in the evening.”
~
Later, in the captains’ tent, Lewis was organizing the many pages of observations of specimens that he had accumulated when Clark burst in carrying a metal cup brimming with water. “This,” he said, putting the cup down irreverently on top of Lewis’s notes, “is the water of the Missouri. Drink, and tell me you cannot distinguish a flavor.”
Lewis had given an involuntary yelp when Clark had let go of the cup, and now he gripped it with both hands to be absolutely sure it didn’t go over. “You’re mad, Clark,” he said, his stern tone belied by the half-smile on his lips. “I shall have to write to Jefferson, tell him ‘Captain C. has unfortunately lost his faculties’.”
“Drink it,” Clark persisted.
Lewis took a slow sip. “No, I say I can taste nothing.” He put the cup down at an extremely cautious distance from his papers, turned back to Clark and slung an arm around his shoulders, bringing their faces close. “But I do not need to. I do believe you, you know. I have been considering it for the duration of the evening, and have concluded that, as with sight and hearing, certain men may perhaps make greater use of their sense of taste than others.”
“An interesting prospect for scientists like yourself,” said Clark, and found himself running a thumb along Lewis’s jaw, feeling the smooth skin and the tingle of day-old stubble. It was remarkable, really, a man like himself who loved women, sometimes too much for his own good, taking such interest in the feel of his co-captain’s jaw, but he wasn’t thinking much about it, or about anything, really.
“Indeed, I think it ought to be studied,” said Lewis, voice quiet and throaty, and then he trailed off and kissed Clark, who, in whatever muddled thoughts he held onto, marveled at the existence of lips like Lewis’s in nature. But Nature had created many wonders, as they were beginning to see in the landscape and in the power of the river, and she had given Clark his perception of the flavor of her waters and, quite possibly, the ecstasy he felt at that very moment.
Lewis drew back and smiled fully, a rare gift. “Your response?”
“Appreciation,” said Clark somewhat breathlessly.
“No, no, I mean... could you taste anything?” His expression had all the eagerness of a scientist conducting an experiment, mixed with another, more devious curiosity.
Clark burst out laughing. He could, actually. “I can tell you’ve been eating berries again,” he said, taking on a disapproving tone. “In all sincerity, you should not risk yourself so, eating things when you’re not sure they are edible. I’ve told you not to.”
“But I do so enjoy it,” said Lewis, tugging a lock of Clark’s hair, “trying out things I have never seen before. The thrill is in the risk.”
Clark swatted his hand away. “What if you were to die of it? What then?”
“I will not die of berries,” Lewis scoffed. “And if by any chance I should,” he continued, playfully, clearly not thinking of death, “you would take over the command; that’s why we have you here.”
Clark wrapped his arms around Lewis’s waist. “My dear - dearest Lewis,” he murmured, pressing his forehead to Lewis’s, “I would not be able.”
They were still for a moment, and then Lewis lifted his head and said as if to brush away the unexpected sentiment, “I’ve another question for you. For my edification - can you discern a difference between my... particular flavor, I suppose...” He grew slightly red in the face; his propriety was not up to this discussion even in his lusty mood. He quickly got over it, though, and continued, “And those of the girls you’ve surely kissed?”
Again, the answer was yes. But Clark just grinned and said, “I’m not sure it’s fitting, describing my previous exploits.” And he caught Lewis by the collar and kissed him recklessly, wanting to do more than just taste, and when Lewis pulled him down onto the ground and managed, “That is to say, you’ve not had any,” in the gasps between kisses, he was entirely willing to take the shot.
______________________________________________________________________________
EDIT: Found some evidence! Okay, so the expeditions bought all these dogs, to eat, from the Indians on October 14, 1805. And Clark wrote:
All the Party have greatly the advantage of me in as much as they all relish the flesh of the dogs.
So everyone else loved the dog meat (eeeuuwww. they were also fond of beaver tail), and Clark refused to eat it. Supertaster-esque, no? Plus, he's always describing the way things tasted, whereas Lewis doesn't really mention that very often.
PS - merry_lewis and capt_clark. OMGWTF. I don't know who these people are, and they're not even attached to an RPG or anything. hahahaha. ♥